


i'm a shadow boxer, waiting for the other girl to make the first move

by voodoochild



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gillian has money to burn and deals to make. Carolyn's quite good at spending men's money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm a shadow boxer, waiting for the other girl to make the first move

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **thatyourefuse** in the Boardwalk Empire Comment Ficathon. Takes place in a post-Season 2 future in which Gillian finds herself in New York.

"You're the wife."

The tones are cut-glass, and you turn around to find a stunning red-haired woman standing in the foyer of the Brook like she owns the place. She's certainly dressed the part, though you know from experience and long-ago poverty that a good set of costume jewelry can pass for real. The diamonds in her ears are glass, the ring the same, but the necklace has that look of solid workmanship.

She catches your line of sight, smiles more than a bit like your husband in understanding. You are the wife, but it wasn't so long ago that you were scrabbling your way up the ladder from showgirl to society. You set down the accounts book, and nod to Harrison to let her in.

"Carolyn, please. And you are?"

She crosses the parquet floor and extends her hand. "Gillian Darmody. You're an intriguing woman, Mrs. Rothstein. Imagine my surprise when I asked Arnold to discuss investment in the Brook, and he directed me to you."

You've been warned, roundaboutly, about Mrs. Darmody. Meyer doesn't tell tales, but you can read between the lines; he doesn't trust her, but she's worth the effort to do business with. The challenging, direct look in her eye tells you that she is not to be underestimated - as if you would, that would be foolish - and the smile lurking about her lips says she quite likes you.

Good to know - your husband's latest paramour might actually be worthy of him.

"I handle a great deal of Arnold's business here in Saratoga, Mrs. Darmody. What can I do for you?"

Gillian smiles. "You can help me dispose of a large sum of money left to me by a very disagreeable man."

*****

Over the next two hours - and a very nice steak dinner - you assist Gillian in dividing up the money Mr. Kaestner left her. She's put a large chunk into a trust for her son (five, home in New Jersey with a caretaker), and she's apparently had her fill of advice from various men about what to do with the rest.

You've become quite good at spending men's money.

You talk about various investments, both legal and extra-legal, and Gillian settles on becoming a silent partner in Redstone, as well as putting another couple million into the Brook. She doesn't want this to be all business, so you also discuss various jewelry houses, tailors, and the latest caberets. You were right, she's a showgirl, and her eyes light up just like yours when you talk about the sparkle of the stagelights, the bouqets of flowers filling a dressing room.

She tells you - haltingly, a bit self-consciously - that she still takes the stage. It's a good thing she's capable of looking years younger than she actually is, because a woman in her thirties still dancing and posing like a teenager is quite sad. At first it was for fun, and later it was for money (she'd had another son, but her voice quavers when she speaks of him, and you wonder how long it's been since she's buried him), but now, she says, she wants to be free of it.

You can understand that need for freedom, and maybe that's why you draw her into a cab and back to your suite. When the door closes, Gillian has a curious smile on her face and an assessing look.

"Planning on staking your claim, dear?"

You don't understand, and say so.

"They say you share your husband's taste for showgirls."

"Who says that?"

"Does it matter? I want to know if it's true. If you want me because I'm a showgirl and because he's had me - then that's fine. I can be that for you."

Shaken, you press your lips to her cheek. "You don't have to be anything for me."

"Oh, sweetheart," she says, a little sadly. "don't you know girls like you and me, we're always playing a role?"

Her mouth is bitter - gin and tonic - but so is yours.

Maybe two of a kind isn't such a bad hand after all.


End file.
